


Ancient History

by WitticasterCole



Series: Strange Lives [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Babies, Dragons, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tales, Folklore, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pre-Canon, Socially Awkward Werewolves, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitticasterCole/pseuds/WitticasterCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Derek's first Saturday off in months. He just wants a quiet night in with his sister. Clearly, that's not going to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ancient History

**Author's Note:**

> This is in-continuity with _The Forgotten Predator_ , but can be read on its own. Beta by Dusty, who once nursed a wounded dingo back to health so she could kill it fairly in single combat.

Corbin's doesn't have a large enough clientele—and the fire marshal doesn't pay enough attention—to warrant a velvet rope, and the drunks aren't rowdy enough that they need to be violently ejected from the pub more than once or twice a month, so Derek's job as “bouncer” mostly entails giving menacing looks from the corner of the room and minding the till whenever Regan, the bartender, goes out for a smoke.

It's past midnight on a Friday night (Saturday morning?) when a pastrami sandwich is shoved under Derek's nose.

“They serve food here, Laura.” Derek takes the sandwich, if only to get it out of his face.

Laura crosses her arms. “What have I told you about pub food?”

“That if I keep eating it I'll die of renal failure and clogged arteries,” Derek recites. “Done marking papers?”

“Yeah,” Laura says, all of the frustration and stress from the last week packed into a single word. “I really need to talk Dr. Vess out of this 'contract model' bullshit. Some of those students should fail his class so hard they're ejected from the school. And then they need to be examined by a vet. When's your shift over?”

“Another hour or so. You staying?”

“Yeah, why not? Eat your sandwich, Grumpy. That's an order.”

β

“So what's the plan for your night off?” Laura says, as Derek is hefting chairs onto tables.

“There isn't one.”

“ _Derek._ ”

“Laura.”

“Regan, persuade my brother to stop being a hopeless shut-in.”

Regan is an Irish expat of indeterminate age who serves drinks with the kind of psychotic efficiency normally exhibited by contract killers and municipal librarians. She looks between Derek and Laura, blinks a few times, and says, “I could hook him up with some cats.”

“No,” Derek and Laura say simultaneously.

Derek finishes with the chairs and heads for the door. “I'm out, Regan.”

“Have a good weekend,” Regan calls after him.

They step outside. Laura bumps into Derek's side to get his attention. “You should wear a jacket.”

“Don't need one.”

“You don't. Everybody else does. We're supposed to be blending in, remember?”

Derek stops and gives Laura a blank stare, hands in his pockets. “This is New York. Yesterday I saw gay Batman on rollerskates riding the subway. I can get away with wearing a henley in October.”

It's ten blocks from Corbin's to their apartment. Neither Derek nor Laura worry too much about walking the streets of Brooklyn in the small hours of the morning. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil,” Laura once said, “for I am the evillest bitch in the valley.”

(The look Derek gave her at the time was slightly pained.)

Their apartment building has one functioning elevator that makes a godawful screeching noise every time it ascends. Derek and Laura step inside, and Derek throws out an arm to hold the door open as a tiny, familiar woman scurries to catch the elevator.

Laura spots the shopping bag first. “Little late for a milk run, Ada.”

Ada Keeney lives next door. Her husband is frequently away on business trips, leaving her and the baby alone for days at a time. She gives Laura a tight-lipped smile by way of response.

The elevator reaches their floor. Ada exits first. She hurriedly unlocks the door to her apartment and slams it shut behind her.

Laura watches the closed door for a moment, then says, “I wonder if she still thinks we're fucking.”

Derek chokes on air and doubles over. Laura slaps him on the back until he recovers.

β

Laura is more or less the only family Derek has left, and he loves her very much, but this morning she is severely testing that love.

Derek wakes to the sound of Laura banging around in the kitchen. “I'm going to hide things in your closet,” he groans, knowing she'll be able to hear him. “Dead things.” It's not his best threat, but he's only been awake for about seventeen seconds.

“I can't find the blender,” Laura replies. The sound of cupboards opening and closing continues.

Ah yes, the blender. Derek hid it last week. Exactly a week ago, if he recalls correctly... right down to the hour.

“If I tell you where it is, will you promise not to turn it on?”

“No.”

Derek sighs in defeat and crawls out of bed.

“ _Every_ Saturday morning,” he mumbles as he walks into the kitchen.

“It's noon.”

“I've been awake for less than two hours. It's morning.”

“Right, Derek's Law. I forgot. Blender?”

Derek ducks into the pantry and retrieves the blender from its hiding spot. When he gets back, Laura is pulling bags of fruit from the freezer. “You're terrible at being a werewolf,” he tells her.

“Says the guy who practically lives off hummus.” She's silent for a moment, and Derek _knows_ what she's about to say. “So I'm going out tonight to celebrate the end of midterms. You should come.”

“Do I have to?”

Laura rolls her eyes. “I don't drag you out with me to torture you, Derek. Just trying to get you interested in the world again.” Her voice softens. “Mom and Dad would want you to have a life.”

“I have a life,” Derek says.

“You have a job,” Laura corrects. “And when you're not at work, you're sleeping. You don't _do_ anything. You don't go out, you don't have friends—”

“It's safer that way.”

Laura gives him a considering look. He's seen that look from her so many times over the years, but whatever she's thinking about, she never tries to bring it up.

He never told her about Kate.

He never told anyone about Kate.

“I'm not trying to turn you into a party animal or anything,” Laura says after a moment. “I just don't want you holed up in here alone all the time.” Her face brightens, and she snaps her fingers. “We could go to the goth club! You can sit in the corner and glare at people all you want. You'll fit right in.”

“I'm not going to the goth club, Laura.”

β

Laura disappears for a few hours in the afternoon, and the next time Derek sees her, she's holding a stack of DVDs in one hand and balancing six cans of soda on top of a pizza box in the other.

“What's this?” Derek says.

“Creative problem-solving,” Laura replies. “I don't want you sitting in here alone all night, and if you're not coming out with me, then I'm staying in with you.”

Derek stares at her for a few seconds. “You don't have to,” he finally says.

“Derek, I am your sister and your Alpha. I have Responsibilities.” Derek can hear the capital R.

One of the soda cans topples from its perch on the pizza box and hits the floor, hissing ominously.

“Open that one last,” Laura says.

β

Halfway through _Charlie Wilson's War_ , Derek hits the mute and cocks his head to the side, listening.

Laura's eyes are on him immediately. “What is it?”

“Crying. From next door.”

“Ada?” Laura pauses, listening as well, then adds, “You want to go over there, don't you?”

Derek turns his head and regards her with an even stare.

“I'll get the can opener,” Laura says, heaving herself off the couch.

β

The chain is still on the door when Ada opens it, even though Derek is at least 80% certain she looked out the peephole first.

“Yes?” she says, rubbing at her eyes.

“Hi, Ada,” Laura says, a broad, disarming smile on her face. Well, it's meant to be disarming. There's a little too much teeth in it. “Our can opener's busted. Can we borrow yours?”

She holds up the can opener. The bolt holding the two halves together is sheared completely in half.

Laura may have been a little overzealous.

Ada's eyes dart from the can opener to Laura's face to Derek. “Yeah, of course. Come in.” She shuts the door, slides the chain free, and opens it again.

The apartment is clean. Too clean, for a young mother with a small child. Derek scents the air, a subtly as he can manage. Something about the apartment smells... off.

Ada digs through a drawer, shoulders tense. Laura leans across the counter.

“Is everything okay? Your eyes are all red.”

Ada sniffs and scrubs at her eyes again. “What? No. Everything's fine.”

“Are you sure?” Laura's chin dips. Her spine straightens. “If something's wrong, you can tell me. No matter how strange it is. I'll believe you.”

Derek can sense the power rolling off his Alpha. Even a human like Ada can feel it, in her own way.

Ada swallows and nods, looking away. “It's... it's Connor.”

“Your son?”

“He's... different. He looks at me sometimes, and there's something in his eyes...” She laughs, a high, brittle sound. “I'm crazy, right? Afraid of my own baby.”

Derek scents the air again. He catches a whiff of something not entirely unlike black licorice, alien and familiar all at once.

“Laura.”

Laura sniffs as well. Her eyebrows knit together.

“Maybe we could check on him,” Laura says. “To make sure everything's okay.”

Ada snorts. “What, like checking for monsters under the bed?”

Laura smiles again, too wide. “Exactly like that.”

The not-black-licorice smell is stronger in the nursery, but the window is open, blowing most of the scent away. Laura approaches the crib, Derek at her shoulder. Ada stays by the door, chewing on her nails.

The baby is standing in his crib, hands on the railing.

Laura wears an old iron key on a chain around her neck. It used to unlock the door to the tunnels under the house in Beacon Hills, before the fire.

She pulls the chain over her head and taps the key against the baby's forehead.

The baby hisses, baring pointed teeth, and scrambles to the far edge of the crib.

Ada screams.

“Grab it!” Laura barks.

The creature hisses again and tries to scramble over the side of the crib. Derek lunges forward and manages to snag it by the ankle. The creature twists and sinks its teeth into the meat of his hand.

Derek snatches his hand back. The wound is already starting to heal, but the creature is moving, out the window and up the outside of the building before Derek can catch it.

He leans out the window and looks up. The creature is halfway to the roof already. It'll be long gone by the time he gets up there.

Ada is sobbing, curled up in the corner of the nursery. Laura kneels next to her, hand hovering over her shoulder, not quite sure what to do.

“What was _that?_ ” Ada chokes out.

“A changeling,” Laura replies, voice soft. “It replaced your son while you were asleep, or not paying attention.”

“Where's Connor?”

Laura opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She closes it again.

“We'll find him,” Derek says.

Laura looks at Derek over her shoulder, eyebrow raised, anxious. The message is clear: _are you sure?_

Derek gives her a small, sharp nod.

Laura turns back to Ada. “We'll find him,” she says. “Promise.”

β

A block from Corbin's, Laura says, “So we're really doing this.”

“Looks like,” Derek says.

“You know the kind of people we're going to piss off tonight?”

“Yep.”

“Just checking.”

The moment Derek walks into the pub, Regan yells, “It's your day off!”

Derek leans across the bar. “I need to talk to her.”

“You'll have to be a mite more specific.”

“You know who he's talking about,” Laura says, from over Derek's shoulder. Her eyes flash red.

The scent of stress mixed with black licorice begins to wind its way under the usual pub smells.

Regan's eyes dart around the pub, fingers tapping on the bar. “You're sure you want to deal with her?”

“Yes,” Derek says.

Regan chews her lip and meets Derek's eyes. “City Hall station. You'll find her there.”

Derek turns to leave.

“Do me a favor, Derek,” Regan calls after him. “Don't tell her who sent you.”

β

Breaking into a ghost station isn't the most illegal thing Derek and Laura have ever done, but it's the one most likely to get them shot.

The platform is dark, even to Derek's eyes; the grand arches are reduced to vague shapes in the gloom. He doesn't like it. The black licorice smell is everywhere down here.

Out of the dark comes a voice: “Most of your kind know better than to cross into my territory.”

Laura stands tall, clasps her hands behind her back, and lets her eyes glow red. “We have business with the Court.”

“There isn't much of a Court these days, Alpha. You have business with me.”

The Queen steps out of the shadows. To the uninitiated, she would appear human, but she's taller than Derek by a few inches. Long fingers smooth the front of her peacock-green waistcoat. When the dim light from the skylights hits her eyes, they flash like a cat's.

She stops at a respectful distance; far enough that Laura doesn't have to tilt her head back to meet the Queen's gaze.

“Your people took a child,” Laura says. “Connor Keeney. We want him back.”

The Queen spreads her hands. “I don't have the boy.”

Derek resists the urge to growl.

“I can, however, order his return. For a price.”

Laura's eyes narrow. “Tell me what the price is, and I'll consider it.”

“Three tasks,” the Queen says, “easily performed by someone of your... pedigree. Complete them before the sun rises, and the child is yours.”

Laura mulls it over. “And if we fail?”

“Then Connor Keeney belongs to us.”

Laura's eyes flit to the side, meeting Derek's. Derek nods, slowly.

“We accept.”

The Queen smiles, close-lipped. “Excellent. Now, the first task: there's a hospital in Staten Island, where a boy intends to remove a ring from a dead girl's finger. Bring me the ring.”

β

They find him waiting by the loading docks, at the second hospital they try. Judging by the smell, this is where most of the hospital staff take their smoke breaks.

The kid is barely out of his teens; motor oil stains his hands and a duffel bag is slung over his shoulder. He watches the door, shifting from one foot to the other in agitation.

“So what's the plan?” Laura says, legs dangling off the edge of the loading dock. The kid jumps, curses, spins around to face her. “Wait for someone to come outside, then punch them in the head and steal their security pass?”

“It's what I would do,” Derek says from behind the kid, who jumps again and backs away from the both of them.

Laura says, “And that's exactly why it's a terrible plan.”

“This isn't what it looks like,” the kid says.

Laura hops down from the loading dock. “So you're _not_ trying to break into the morgue, then?”

The kid swallows. “Uh.”

“It's okay,” Laura says, clapping him on the shoulder, squeezing a little too tight. “So are we. What's your name?”

“Anton.”

“Hi, Anton. I'm Laura. That guy over there with the face is my brother, Derek.”

Derek gives a halfhearted wave as he kneels by the door, examining the lock. It's a card-reader, and ripping it off the wall would probably seal the door, not open it.

It also looks like the kind of door that only locks from one side.

Derek stands and backs up, scanning the rows of windows. There: third floor, two rows over. “Laura,” he says, and points at the open window. “Think you can fit through there?”

Laura looks up at the window, then down at herself. “Not comfortably.” She looks up at the window again and sighs. “I'll need a boost.”

Derek puts his back to the wall and kneels, hands cupped palm-up over his raised knee. Laura puts one foot in his hands, the other on his shoulder, and Derek stands, tossing her in the air.

Laura's claws catch on the windowsill. She levers herself up and climbs through. Derek moves back to the door and waits.

“What if she gets caught?” Anton says.

“She won't.”

Minutes later, the door opens. Laura waves them through and closes it quietly behind them.

They're just down the hall from the morgue when Derek holds up a hand. Laura stops immediately, Anton bumping into her.

“Derek?” Laura says.

“There's someone in there.” Derek inclines his head towards the door to the morgue. “I can hear them moving around.”

“I can't hear anything,” Anton says. Derek shoots him an annoyed look over his shoulder.

Laura ushers them both through the nearest door, into a storage room. Derek leans against the door, listening.

“So what do we do now?” Anton says.

“We wait 'til the morgue is empty,” Laura replies.

“For how long?”

Laura shrugs.

β

Eventually Laura's curiosity gets the better of her and she says, “What's the deal with the ring?”

Anton tenses. Eyes wide, he says, “How do you know about that?”

“Friends in high places,” Laura says. Derek lets slip a snort of derisive laughter. Laura ignores him and continues, “We know you're here to steal a ring from a corpse. Why?”

“It's not—” Anton pauses. Takes a breath. “Her name's Natalie. She's my fiancé. We met at college. Only her family isn't okay with her seeing some scholarship kid from Queens. And they're not nice people. She can't just ditch them. They'd find her.”

“So...”

“So... when I was growing up, there was this lady who lived down the street. Every once in a while, when somebody had a problem, they'd go see her. After Natalie's parents told her we couldn't see each other, I went to the lady's house and I asked her for help. She gave me the ring. Natalie puts the ring on, and she gets sick and dies. Take the ring off... and she's alive again.”

“And after that... what? You'll run away together?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Idiot,” Derek growls.

“What?”

“What my brother's _trying_ to say,” Laura says, elbowing Derek in the side, “is that it seems like you didn't really think this through. What about school? The life you have here?”

“I don't care about any of that,” Anton says. “I just want to be with her.”

Derek's teeth grind together. He glares resolutely through the glass pane in the door.

Down the hall, the door to the morgue opens. Derek waits until the footsteps have receded before he steps into the hallway, signaling the all-clear to Laura and Anton.

It takes them a few moments to find the right locker: Rosheimer, Natalie, 20 years old. Anton pulls the sheet off her face.

“She's pretty.” Laura chews her lower lip for a moment. “... Anton. This might not work. If you take that ring off and she stays dead—”

“It'll work,” Anton says, determined. He picks up Natalie's right hand and works the plain silver band off her finger.

Nothing happens.

Anton's fingers tighten their grip on the edge of the body tray.

“I'm sorry,” Laura says.

Anton closes his eyes and whispers, “Come on, come on...”

Derek backs up and cracks the door, looking out into the hall. “We can't stay here.”

Laura tugs at Anton's arm. “Anton, we have to go.”

Natalie's eyes open. She gasps.

Anton's hands fly to her shoulders. Natalie winds her arms around him, clutching his shirt. They both start to cry.

Derek plucks the ring from where it fell on the floor. He holds it up so Laura can see. She nods.

When Anton turns around, a “thank you,” on his lips, he sees nothing but an empty morgue.

β

The Queen holds the ring up to the dim light, turning it this way and that. “Very nice,” she says. “There aren't many enchanted rings left in the world. I wonder how long that hedge-witch had this squirreled away?”

“You're wasting time,” Laura snaps. Derek's been in a mood since they left the hospital, which means _Laura's_ been in a mood since they left the hospital. “What's the next task?”

“If you insist,” the Queen says, dropping the ring into her pocket. “There's a boat on the Hudson, where a dragon is throwing a party. I want the pearl she wears around her neck.”

Laura's eyebrows shoot up. “A _dragon?_ ”

The Queen smiles, this time with teeth. “That won't be a problem, will it?”

“Of course not,” Laura says, and strides out of the station, grabbing Derek's arm as she goes.

Derek pretends not to notice the claws gouging holes in his sleeve.

β

They can hear the noise a mile away: house music and drunken laughter. There's a red carpet on the gangplank, and the yacht is absolutely packed.

A man stops them as they approach the dock. His suit's cut wide in the shoulders; enough for him to be concealing a weapon, or—more importantly—for him to _look_ like he's concealing a weapon. “This is a private event,” he says.

“I'm sure my invitation just got lost in the mail,” Laura replies smoothly. Behind her, Derek pulls his shoulders back and rocks onto the balls of his feet. He can feel his claws trying to come in.

“Name,” the security guy says, pulling out his phone so he can scroll through some kind of list.

Laura steps forward. Her eyes glow red, and her fangs drop. “Laura Hale. Alpha.”

Derek can see the security guy tense. The phone beeps. The guy looks down at it, reading, then back up again. “Go ahead,” he says, and steps aside.

The noise is even worse once they're on the boat. Derek's eyebrows draw down, a grimace on his face, and Laura pats his shoulder in sympathy. “We won't be here long.”

At the center of the room is a girl in a red silk cheongsam, dark hair tied up in an intricate bun. Every move she makes is graceful and sinuous, and she's surrounded on all sides by guests clamoring for her attention.

Laura taps Derek on the shoulder again. “Stay here. I'm gonna take a look around.” She disappears into the crowd.

Derek's gaze is drawn back to the girl in the cheongsam. She's really wearing an astonishing amount of eyeliner. A voice from behind him says, “Can you believe her?”

Derek turns. The woman is much shorter than he is, with boyishly short hair, and she's severely underdressed compared to the other guests: a plain blouse and jeans, with a pair of snakeskin pumps as her only nod to sartorial elegance.

The woman nods toward the girl in the cheongsam. “Cake on the makeup all you want, Beijing Barbie, you're still just a white girl with chopsticks in her hair.” She snorts into her wine glass. “She bought that cheongsam at Sears, by the way.” She tilts her head back to drain the glass, and Derek spots the pearl dangling on a golden chain at her throat.

“Why invite her, then?”

The woman shrugs. “That whole 'Dragon Lady' routine keeps the guests entertained. Lets me conduct my business without being hassled.” She extends a hand. “Alex Tsao. Call me Alex.”

“Derek,” he says, shaking her hand. Her grip is deceptively strong.

“So what brings you to my party, Derek?”

“Actually, he's with me,” Laura says, appearing at Derek's elbow. “And you know exactly who we are. Why let us in?”

“You don't see many werewolves around anymore,” Alex says without missing a beat. “Even fewer Alphas. I got curious. The better question is, why'd you feel the need to crash my party in the first place?”

Derek steps behind Laura—taking his customary place at her shoulder—as she says, “To deliver a warning. Someone is going to steal your pearl tonight.”

Alex's fingers tighten on her wine glass. “Let's talk somewhere a little more private.”

β

Alex leads them belowdecks, to a small office. She closes the door behind them, muting the sounds of the party above.

“Can I offer either of you a drink?” she says.

“No, thank you,” Laura replies. Derek shakes his head.

Alex pours herself a glass of something Derek can only identify as “green” and settles behind the desk. “I understood when I started this venture that I ran the risk of making enemies, but I thought those enemies would at least have the common decency to show me their faces.” She shakes her head. “New York is very different from San Francisco.”

She spins her chair around to face the window, looking out over the river. Derek takes the opportunity to shoot a look in Laura's direction, confused and alarmed. Laura waves him down. Alex turns around to face them again, and the two werewolves quickly school their expressions.

“I can't tell you exactly who the thief is,” Laura says. “Doing so would put my brother's life at risk, and potentially also mine. I _can_ tell you that the thief has the backing of the Court.”

Alex's free hand goes to the pearl at her neck, rolling it between her fingers. “I see.” She stands and walks to the wall closest to Derek's chair, sliding a panel open. There's a safe behind it; Alex punches a short combination into the keypad, unclasps the golden chain from around her neck, and deposits the pearl in the safe.

“Wrought iron,” Alex says, closing the door, replacing the panel, and moving back behind the desk. “Should be enough to discourage the Court's usual cutpurses.”

The edge of Laura's mouth quirks up. “Yes, it should.”

Alex places the glass on the desk and claps her hands together. “Well, now that's over with, I've got a party to get to. You're welcome to stay.” She glances at Derek; her eyes flick down and then up again, almost too fast to see. “Your brother, too.”

“That's very kind of you.”

“Least I could do. You've done a favor for me, Ms. Hale. I won't forget it.”

β

“She likes you,” Laura says. They've got their backs against the rail by the buffet table; Derek can see Alex across the room, chatting with what seems to be a never-ending parade of men in ugly suits.

Derek says, “What's your point?”

“Well, _someone_ needs to keep our host distracted while _someone else_ goes downstairs and grabs that pearl.”

Derek's head whips around to glare at his evil whoremonger of a sister. “No.”

“ _Derek_.”

“I'm not going to—no!”

“It's not like I want you two doing reverse cowgirl in front of the whole party! Just distract her.”

“How?”

“'How?' Have you looked in a mirror recently? Do that thing with your face. You'll be fine.” Laura shoves him in Alex's direction.

“You're a horrible sister.”

“Go.” Another shove.

“If she eats me, I'll haunt your bedroom forever.”

“ _Go_.”

Alex's eyes light up when she spots Derek. He forces a smile onto his face.

“Derek! Enjoying the party?”

Derek says the first thing that comes to mind, which turns out to be, “It's a little loud.”

“Ah, of course, your hearing. I completely forgot.” Alex steps closer, her eyes taking their time on the way up to his face. “We could go somewhere quieter, if you'd like.”

“As long as it's not your office,” Derek says quickly. At Alex's quizzical look, he adds, “Too official.”

Alex slides her arm through Derek's, pulling him away from the crowd. “I know just the place.”

She leads him to the prow of the ship, far enough away from the commotion that Derek can hear himself think again.

“So what do you do, Derek?” Alex says, leaning back against the rail.

“Not much,” Derek replies without thinking. There's a brief awkward moment where Alex just stares at him. “I'm a bouncer.”

“Velvet rope, leather jacket, that sort of thing?”

“Not... exactly.”

“Hmm.” Alex looks him over again. “You'd look good in a leather jacket.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

Distantly, he hears Laura swear. The safe must be giving her trouble. “What about you?” he asks Alex. He leans forward onto the rail, looking out over the river.

“Oh, I look _fantastic_ in leather.”

“What do you do, I mean?”

“Right now? Well, in California, I've mostly been involved in communications. I think I might try my hand at finance, though. Hence, New York.”

“Sounds a little... mundane.”

Alex laughs. “'Mundane' is the way of the future, Derek. Nobody's going to worship at my feet and beg for rain in this day and age. If I don't adapt, I'll die.” She rolls her eyes. “That's something Her Majesty and that pack of sycophants she calls a Court clearly don't understand.”

“You sound like you've been saying that a lot.”

“To anyone who'll listen,” Alex says with a toothy grin. “Clearly I got somebody's attention. Do you have a girlfriend, Derek?”

One of Derek's hands slips off the rail and he pitches to the side for a terrifying second or two. After he catches his balance, he says, “No. No girlfriend. I don't want to talk about it.”

The corner of Alex's mouth twists up in wry sympathy. “Bad breakup?”

A laugh is punched out of Derek so suddenly it's painful. “You have no idea.”

“ _There_ you are!” Laura says, from behind Derek. He tries not to let the immense relief he's feeling show on his face. “Alex, I'm terribly sorry, but my brother and I have somewhere to be.”

“Of course, of course. It was wonderful to meet you both.” The look Alex shoots Derek is downright predatory. “Take care.”

Derek follows Laura down the gangplank and away from the docks. Once Derek can no longer feel eyes on his back, he says, “Never make me do that again.”

“I promise I will never make you chat up a dragon so I can steal a piece of magic jewelry ever again,” Laura replies, utterly sincere. “Cross my heart.”

β

The Queen doesn't waste time admiring the pearl, dropping it into one of her pockets instead. “Well done. The dragon will do nearly anything to get this back. Including agree to a number of restrictions on just how far she's allowed to expand her territory.”

“I don't care,” Laura groans.

“You should. I'm discussing the future of your home.”

“New York isn't home.”

The Queen regards Laura for a moment, then says, “The third task, then. There is an old man telling stories in a bar in Harlem. Bring me his bracelet, and the child is yours.”

On the way back up to the surface, Laura nudges Derek's shoulder with her own. “You haven't said anything since we left the docks. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry I used you as dragon-bait.”

“It's fine. Forget it.”

Laura gives him that considering look again.

β

It takes them hours to find the right bar.

The old man could be anywhere between fifty and two hundred years old. There's a leather bracelet hanging off his right wrist; his fingers are long and thin, and he talks with his hands.

“—turned it completely inside out, so it was facing the other way, and the damn thing was so startled it ran off. Now, the second time my cousin crossed paths with a bear was the following July. It saw him first, and from quite a ways away. So my cousin, he figures the best option is to run, and that damn bear starts chasing after him. Up and down the county they go, until finally my cousin reaches a river. He crosses on the ice, but the bear's too heavy and falls right through.”

“Ice?” says the guy sitting next to the old man at the bar. “In July?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention. They'd been running so long, by that time it was December.”

The guy shakes his head, grabs his beer, and walks away. “You're full of shit, old man.”

“Not one word of that was a lie!” the old man shouts.

Laura sits in the spot the guy vacated, Derek leaning against the bar behind her. “Can I buy you a drink?” she says to the old man.

“Oh, don't bother with that coy bullshit. I know what you're here for.”

Laura blinks. “Ah.”

“Let's get a booth,” the old man says. “This bar stool's worked its way so far up my ass I can taste it.”

β

“You've got to watch for it.” The old man takes a pull of his beer. The bar is nearly empty, and the bartender keeps shooting annoyed glances in their direction. “The exact moment they realize you've been having them on. It's all in the eyes. And then, if you've done your job right, they _keep listening anyway_.”

Laura's fingers are laced behind her head, tangled in her hair, as she stares down at the surface of the table. “I don't want to be rude, but we're kind of on a deadline.”

“All right, Shiloh, calm down,” the old man says. Laura's hands drop to the table and she glares at him. Oblivious, he continues, “I'm actually willing to give you the bracelet. I just need something in return.”

“Great,” Laura says. “What is it?”

“A story.”

Laura thinks for a second. “Okay. Uh... So two brothers are abandoned to die in the Tiber—”

“Heard it,” the old man interrupts.

“A young boy survives a battle and is found by a—”

“Heard that, too. And don't try that one about the Beast of Gevaudan, either. Heard that one fifty fucking times, never gets any less tedious. Although that French movie with the kung fu wasn't bad.”

Laura groans and buries her head in her hands. “I don't _know_ any other stories.”

“Sounds like a trip to the library is in order.”

“The sun comes up in less than two hours. I don't have time for this.”

“Those are the terms. Take 'em or leave 'em.”

Derek says, “I've got one.”

Laura looks up at him. “You do?”

“You can't hear it,” Derek continues. Laura raises her eyebrow. “I mean it. You have to promise you won't listen in, Laura.”

Laura chews on her lower lip for a moment. “... Okay. I'll be outside.”

As soon as she's gone, the old man smirks. “This sounds promising.”

Derek takes a breath. “Her name was Kate Argent. She was a lifeguard when I met her. I was sixteen.”

β

It sounds like a fairy tale when Derek tells it like this:

A young wolf meets a human girl. He loves her, and she says she loves him, and he pretends not to notice the skip in her heartbeat when she does. They keep their relationship a secret. Make plans to run away together.

And then, one day, when the wolf and his sister are away, the girl sneaks into the wolf's house and burns it to the ground with his family trapped inside.

The wolf and his sister run. They run for what seems like forever, until they arrive in a city so huge and so chaotic that the hunters will never find them.

But they're still running, in a way. They'll never stop.

β

“Well,” the old man says, after Derek is finished. “I don't know if I'll be getting much use out of that one. Mostly on account of the fact that it's goddamn depressing. A deal's a deal, though.” He unties the bracelet from around his wrist and hands it to Derek.

Up close, Derek can see that the leather band is has a stamp in the middle: a stylized spider. “Thank you,” he says.

“Kid, the life you've had, I'm surprised you can still thank anybody.” The old man stands, shuffling out of the booth. “Give my regards to Her Majesty. And look after that sister of yours.”

“Trust me, she doesn't need looking after.”

“I'm not so sure.”

Laura is leaning up against the wall when Derek exits the bar. “You look terrible,” she says.

Derek doesn't answer.

“I promise I wasn't listening.”

“I know.”

“You got it?”

Derek holds up the bracelet.

“Great,” Laura sighs. “Let's get this over with.”

β

There's a faint glow on the horizon when they descend into City Hall station for the last time.

“Cutting it a little close, aren't we?” the Queen says.

“Do you see daylight out there?” Laura snaps, tired and annoyed. “Because I don't.”

“Hmm. Do you have it?”

Derek tosses her the bracelet. The Queen catches it, dangling the leather band between her thumb and forefinger.

“Odd.”

“It's the right bracelet,” Derek says, defensive.

“Oh, I'm sure it is. But it's completely unremarkable.” She turns it over in her hands. “No enchantments, no glamors. And he was so loath to part with it, too.” She sniffs. “Another one of his tricks, I suspect. One day I'll stop falling for them.”

“You owe us a kid,” Laura says.

“Yes, the child. Connor Keeney will be returned to his mother before the hour is out. You have my word.” The Queen tilts her head. Her eyes flash in the rising light. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Alpha.”

“I'm sure it was,” Laura replies, baring her teeth.

The Queen melts back into the shadows, but Derek can feel her watching them all the way back up to the surface.

β

Derek and Laura are a block from the apartment when an enraged roar echoes across the sky. It starts to rain.

“I guess Ms. Tsao just checked her safe,” Laura says.

In the elevator, Laura rubs at her eyes and tips sideways, resting her head on Derek's shoulder.

Their first stop is the Keeneys' apartment. Ada drags Laura into a hug as soon as she opens the door. Laura pats her awkwardly on the back.

“Thank you,” Ada sobs. She releases Laura and latches onto Derek, who freezes up at the touch. “Thank you, thank you.”

When they finally get back to their own apartment, there's a garment bang hanging off the doorknob with a tag on it that reads, “for Derek.”

Derek unzips the bag. There's a black leather jacket inside, along with a card:

> _Derek,_
> 
> _You're welcome._
> 
> _-Alex_

Laura laughs so hard she chokes on her own spit.

Ω


End file.
